On the arm of her Fitzroy,Rosa went off to Fubsby's,that magnificent shop at the corner of Parliament Place and Alicompayne Square,--a shop into which the rogue had often cast a glance of approbation as he passed:for there are not only the most wonderful and delicious cakes and confections in the window,but at the counter there are almost sure to be three or four of the prettiest women in the whole of this world,with little darling caps of the last French make,with beautiful wavy hair,and the neatest possible waists and aprons.
Yes,there they sit;and others,perhaps,besides Fitz have cast a sheep's-eye through those enormous plate-glass windowpanes.Isuppose it is the fact of perpetually living among such a quantity of good things that makes those young ladies so beautiful.They come into the place,let us say,like ordinary people,and gradually grow handsomer and handsomer,until they grow out into the perfect angels you see.It can't be otherwise:if you and I,my dear fellow,were to have a course of that place,we should become beautiful too.They live in an atmosphere of the most delicious pine-apples,blanc-manges,creams,(some whipt,and some so good that of course they don't want whipping,)jellies,tipsy-cakes,cherry-brandy--one hundred thousand sweet and lovely things.
Look at the preserved fruits,look at the golden ginger,the outspreading ananas,the darling little rogues of China oranges,ranged in the gleaming crystal cylinders.Mon Dieu!Look at the strawberries in the leaves.Each of them is as large nearly as a lady's reticule,and looks as if it had been brought up in a nursery to itself.One of those strawberries is a meal for those young ladies,behind the counter;they nibble off a little from the side,and if they are very hungry,which can scarcely ever happen,they are allowed to go to the crystal canisters and take out a rout-cake or macaroon.In the evening they sit and tell each other little riddles out of the bonbons;and when they wish to amuse themselves,they read the most delightful remarks,in the French language,about Love,and Cupid,and Beauty,before they place them inside the crackers.They always are writing down good things into Mr.Fubsby's ledgers.It must be a perfect feast to read them.
Talk of the Garden of Eden!I believe it was nothing to Mr.
Fubsby's house;and I have no doubt that after those young ladies have been there a certain time,they get to such a pitch of loveliness at last,that they become complete angels,with wings sprouting out of their lovely shoulders,when (after giving just a preparatory balance or two)they fly up to the counter and perch there for a minute,hop down again,and affectionately kiss the other young ladies,and say,"Good-by,dears!We shall meet again la haut."And then with a whir of their deliciously scented wings,away they fly for good,whisking over the trees of Brobdingnag Square,and up into the sky,as the policeman touches his hat.
It is up there that they invent the legends for the crackers,and the wonderful riddles and remarks on the bonbons.No mortal,I am sure,could write them.
I never saw a man in such a state as Fitzroy Timmins in the presence of those ravishing houris.Mrs.Fitz having explained that they required a dinner for twenty persons,the chief young lady asked what Mr.and Mrs.Fitz would like,and named a thousand things,each better than the other,to all of which Fitz instantly said yes.The wretch was in such a state of infatuation that Ibelieve if that lady had proposed to him a fricasseed elephant,or a boa-constrictor in jelly,he would have said,"O yes,certainly;put it down."That Peri wrote down in her album a list of things which it would make your mouth water to listen to.But she took it all quite calmly.Heaven bless you!THEY don't care about things that are no delicacies to them!But whatever she chose to write down,Fitzroy let her.
